


when oblivion is calling out your name, are you going to age with grace? (it scares you being alone)

by StarsWithHiddenFires



Series: Beneath the Skin [I'm Okay] [2]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Gen, I can't seem to write happy things, Religious Conflict, Sad, Slightly - Freeform, Teen Angst, blurryface is kinda there, doubts, it's just sad thoughts, tyler and his family live by an ocean now, tyler and his thoughts, well blurryface is talking to tyler but tyler hasn't given blurryface a name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 13:32:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5969017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsWithHiddenFires/pseuds/StarsWithHiddenFires
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyler likes to go out at night and think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when oblivion is calling out your name, are you going to age with grace? (it scares you being alone)

**Author's Note:**

> This (again oops) isn't very happy.  
> (title is from Oblivion and Sleepsong, both by Bastille [I'm sorry my titles are all incredibly long])
> 
> It's Tyler thinking a lot and being rather unhappy  
> so yeah, be careful friends  
> (I don't know if this would affect anyone, but just in case)
> 
> He has some doubts and thoughts.  
> (and I kinda relocated Tyler and the Joseph family? They live somewhere by an ocean now because yup)

 

_When you fall asleep_

_with your head upon my shoulder_

_when you're in my arms_

_but you've gone somewhere deeper_

_(are you going to age with grace?)_

 

The boy sat there, a cynic twist to his dry and cracked lips.  His gaze roamed over the dark, swelling waters, focusing and seeing nothing, yet everything.  Wouldn’t it be great, to just slip away off the rock he was perched on, into the quiet, inky blackness? 

_(No, because then people would find your mangled, bloated body and they’d have to clean it up and think think thINK about others, the world does not revolve around you.  What is your basis for even thinking that would be a good idea?)_

 

Nonetheless, the dark waters that lapped against the jetties he was perched on silently called his name.  It’s not like his leaving would affect many people, or things.  He didn’t do much, just sit around and attempt to focus in school.  He was homeschooled, so it’s not like he had many people around to stir up competition.  Just him and his siblings. 

 

 _(What a sad, lonely life—you don’t even_ try _to make friends.  No wonder you have such a sorry life.  A little effort would be nice now and then)_

 

His shoes made small scraping and thudding sounds as he kicked them against the large rock he sat on. 

His head rested against another rock, behind him, and his dark eyes wandered up towards the cloudy sky scattered with a few points of white light.  Clouds periodically passed in front of the moon, casting shadows across the ocean and the lonely, lonely boy, before bathing the world in cold white light again.

 

What was his purpose? Recently, he had found himself thinking about that more and more.  Why was he here? Why was anyone here? Why did he feel so sad? He should’ve been happy, but for some reason his brain couldn’t get the message that nothing was wrong, and continuously drowned him with inexplicable sorrow.

_(It drowns you metaphorically, like how you want to literally be. Wouldn’t it be great to just fall into the ocean, that dark unknown world, much like your head? To just slip deeper and deeper, away from the light, the bubbles floating up like silver jellyfish)_

 

There was no legitimate reason that he should be sad.  He had a great family, he was pretty good at basketball, he wasn’t ailed by any illness, he helped in the community with his church.  So why did he feel so unfulfilled?

 

_(I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that you’re very self-centered, and only care about what you want.  You never think about what would benefit others, just to help.  And to top it off with another stellar example of you, you doubt your faith.  You, a child of people who are very involved and invested in the church, who’ve demonstrated incredible strength and dedication.  And what do you do in return? You throw it in their f a c e)_

He sat there for a while, only his eyes and legs moving, back and forth, back and forth.  When the moon was nearly directly over him, he lifted his arm, for some reason the small action seeming Herculean.  The time on his watch showed nearly three.  His body shook—in laughter, in sorrow, with sobs? He didn’t know.  He knew it wasn’t kind on his body to do this, not when he had basketball championships coming up, not when he was supposed to be treating his body well for upcoming college entrance exams.  But for some sick, twisted reasoning, he mercilessly punished his body. 

 

After several more minutes, he finally hauled himself to his feet.  He stared, face stone-still as his eyes gazed into the ocean.  The spray from the waves hitting the rocks dampened his clothing and skin, but his only reaction was to slowly blink.  After a moment of this, dark thoughts swirling and bubbling, much like the ocean in front of him, the boy turned around to leave, burying his thoughts deep in his mind and leaving him feeling as numb as his fingers were. 

 

He agilely climbed over the various rocks, never faltering, years of experience lending ease to him.  He probably could have done this with his eyes closed (in fact, once he did try that, and only nearly fell in to the water twice), but decided he didn’t want to tempt fate. 

 

A smile—which didn’t really merit that name, more like the twisting-up of his mouth in mock-enjoyment—appeared across his face when he jumped down from a high rock onto the sand.  It quickly passed, much like the clouds across the moon that night.   His shoes made squeaky-scrunching noises as he trekked across the barren expanse of sand to the boardwalk. 

 

Once the noise of his walking turned into quieter taps on the wooden boardwalk, he dusted himself off as best as he could, trying to hide all traces of his journey that night.  He unlocked his bike from the railing tiredly before swinging a leg over and pedaling away. 

 

His brain was empty of thoughts, just snatches of songs on repeat.  He was tired of thinking at the moment, and there was no person or thing to distract him, so he resorted to using other people’s art as distraction.

 

_(Because you’re an idiot and very lame.  Your own music isn’t going to get anywhere, you’re going to be exhausted tomorrow, and probably grouchy, then take it out on your parents and siblings, and they’ll be hurt, because you’re an i d i o t who can’t take care of yourself.  Thinking of music won’t help you—)_

**(Shut up)**

 

Before his thoughts could veer back onto the dark path, he shook his head violently and thought of some inane pop tune that had been on the radio.  The soundtrack of pointless, catchy tunes echoed through his head as he pedaled up to his driveway before hopping off.  He quietly unlocked and opened the fence to his backyard, taking care to lock it back before leaning his bike against the side of the house in its usual spot. 

 

His body carried him on autopilot around the back of the house, to a magnolia tree that was near his window.  A huff of air passed out of his nose in vague amusement—it had all the cliché-ness of a teen novel: him, biking back to his house late at night in secret, and scaling a tree to get into his house through the window. 

 

However, that was where the parallel ended—he wasn’t trying not to wake his family because he was returning from late night revelry, he was trying to not wake them because he was a sad and lonely person who didn’t know how to get out his feelings. 

 

He quickly scaled the tree, hardly thinking of anything.  His lanky frame lent itself to his climbing and sneaking in, as he was able to reach the windowsill from the branch he was on.  With practiced ease, he swung himself into the room, hardly disturbing a branch or leaf on the tree. 

 

The window squeaked slightly as he lowered it, but not enough for him to be concerned.  He closed the curtains, plunging the room into darkness.  He closed his eyes and stood there for a moment, a solitary dark figure against the dark background of his room, before toeing off his shoes and quickly exchanging his damp jeans and t-shirt for flannel pants and a dry shirt that he had laid out earlier on his bed.  His jeans and shirt landed in his laundry basket perfectly, despite the darkness, years of basketball practice and previous experience showing. 

 

The boy’s shoulders slumped after he stood quietly for a moment.  He left his socks on, as they weren’t really wet or sandy, and shuffled over to his bed.  He crawled under his covers, pulling them up to his chin, and curled up, back facing the window.  Whether it was from being utterly exhausted, or still feeling numb, dark thoughts hardly plagued him that moment, and he quickly slipped into the oblivion of sleep.

 

_Oh you go to sleep on your own_

_and you wake each day with your thoughts_

_and it scares you being alone,_

_it's a last resort_

 

(He’d be okay in the morning, with the sunshine and his family smiling)

(really)

(he was okay)

**Author's Note:**

> If there are any mistakes, feel free to tell me please
> 
> (the part in the beginning is from Bastille's Oblivion, and the part at the end is from their song Sleepsong*)
> 
> Stay street  
> Stay alive  
> |-/  
> (you're all sick as frick)
> 
> *The irony is that Ode To Sleep and Sleepsong both have 'sleep' in their title and talk about sleeping/waking up and stuff, buT NEITHER ARE CONDUCIVE TO SLEEPING (but they're amazing songs)


End file.
